


Friends Or *Friends*?

by afteriwake



Series: All The World’s A Stage [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Embarrassed Molly, Embarrassed Sherlock, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Happy Molly, Happy Sherlock, Matchmaking, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock is Alone, Sherlock-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 19:24:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6207412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After visiting his manager at her office Sherlock discovers she set up Molly Hooper on a blind date with Irene Adler, a fellow actress that he knows chews her paramours up and spits them out, and he wants to rescue her from that fate. But things aren’t <i>quite</i> as they seem, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends Or *Friends*?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sideofrawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sideofrawr/gifts).



> This was a fun one to write and was inspired by an anonymous prompt I got on Tumblr (" _Mrs. Hudson thinks Molly may be bisexual and tells Sherlock that she's set her up with Irene. He runs to Molly's flat only to find out about the ladies' friendship. (I love a scheming Mrs. Hudson)_ "). It was claimed ages ago by **sideofrawr** for the fic title acronym prompt claim and even though I know it's AU I do hope she enjoys it anyway.

He supposed Mrs. Martha Hudson was an oddity among managers. Granted there were some who did actually give a damn about their clients. When they won awards and reaped accolades and gave effused thanks on stage to their peers and their manager’s names came off their lips, perhaps they actually meant it. But he’d heard more horror stories from those in the business than he had heard actual stories of managers with a heart.

So he supposed he was one of the lucky ones.

He had stumbled into acting purely by accident. He’d broken his arm when he was a youth and a plaster cast meant being unable to swim for the time being, and a local community theatre was doing a Shakespearean production. His mother had suggested he try out, saying the big puffy sleeves could hide the cast if he was still in it by the time the play was performed, and when he went to read he had floored everyone. He’d been cast as Hamlet even though he was the youngest of all the people auditioning and the play had been a smash hit. The director had asked a few agents to be in the audience, and one of them had been Gregory Lestrade. He’d taken him under his wing and that had been that.

He’d balanced acting on the stage with occasional parts in film and television and his education at LAMDA, something both Greg and Mrs. Hudson, as she asked to be called, had insisted upon. And he was glad he had gone; the experience had been phenomenal and he met his best mate there, John Watson. He wouldn’t have given it up for the world, to be honest. He was a rising star now, and he had a bright future ahead of him.

The only thing he wished was that he wasn’t alone.

He had friends, he had colleagues, but after a botched attempt at a relationship with a costar of his in _London Assurance_ had blown up in his face he had sworn off love. It was something he regretted now, but after five years of politely yet very firmly rejecting the affections of many women, and some few men, he had developed a reputation. Now he was left alone, and now he was rather lonely. It was all his own doing, though, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

But there were other, more important matters on his mind. There were rumours that there was going to be a production of _The Winter’s Tale_ at the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse in January of next year and he was being considered for King Leontes but so was that bastard James Moriarty. He’d lost more than enough roles to that hack and he wanted to know what he needed to do to secure this one. He strode up to his manager’s office and opened the door. “Mrs. Hudson?” he called out, not seeing her at her desk.

“In a moment, Sherlock,” she said.

He sat down in one of the chairs across from where she normally sat and made himself comfortable. He had always liked her cozy little office; it reminded him of what his childhood home did not, a place to feel safe and secure and welcomed. His mother and father, while they were good people, had gone through many parenting fads while trying to find the best way to parent him and his brothers. His home had always seemed quite sterile until the three of them had moved out. Once they were gone, it seemed as though his parents had finally realized their home could be a home and not a miniature laboratory to raise excellent specimens of children.

After a moment she reappeared from the kitchenette area and gave him a smile. “You must be here after the Leontes part,” she said.

He nodded. “It’s a part to sink your teeth into. He’ll ruin it.”

“Oh, I know it, and I think the director does too. You’ve got the lock, from what I understand. But just to be safe, show up early to the audition, and read the ‘to be or not to be’ speech from Hamlet. That’s your best bit.” She picked up the cup and saucer that was on her desk. “Have you spoken to Molly lately?”

He shook his head. Molly Hooper was a new client of hers, a rather above average talent from what he had seen. She gravitated towards musicals and comedies, which weren’t really his style, though he could carry a tune if need be. But her voice was actually quite lovely. He’d gotten the chance to see her in a special limited West End run of _A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder_ as Phoebe D’Ysquith at Mrs. Hudson’s request, just to “see if she’s worth taking on,” she’d said, and he’d told her that yes, she was. Ever since then, Mrs. Hudson seemed to be trying to push the two of them together.

He had the sinking suspicion the woman was trying to play matchmaker, but he felt that Molly simply wasn’t interested, which was a shame. She was rather pretty, in her own way. And nice. And interesting. And he wouldn’t be opposed to anything happening, if she was inclined.

Which she wasn’t.

“Pity,” she said. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk. “Well, you know I don’t gossip about the personal lives of my clients, but…”

He smiled slightly. “But if it’s particularly juicy, you’ll make an exception.”

“Unless it’s about you, dear. You’re like a son to me, and that would just be wrong, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a nod.

“Well, I _think_ she might be bisexual. She seems _quite_ interested in Irene. You know, Irene Adler?”

Yes, he knew who Irene was. Irene might be the only woman he was on speaking terms with who would be remotely interested in him to be honest, though he wasn’t sure if she was romantically interested in him or just carnally interested in him. The feeling, however, was not mutual. He was fairly sure she would chew him up and spit him out and he did not want to go through that. “Yes, I know.”

“Well, I thought, all things considered, I might set them up. On a little friendly date. I mean, if _you_ won’t make a move on Irene, perhaps she will?” She took a sip of her tea. “Someone should have a little spice in their life, I should think.”

Sherlock looked at her with eyes. “Mrs. Hudson…Martha…you _do_ realize Irene is the ‘love them and leave them,’ type, right?”

“Well, perhaps Molly will leave her first, don’t you think?” she said, giving him an innocent look.

Sherlock shook his head. “What is Molly’s address?” he asked, standing up. She gave him a slight smile and set down her cup and saucer, pulling over a pad of paper and writing down an address. She tore off the top sheet and handed it to him and he glanced at it. She lived on Old Montague Street near Brick Lane. A rather nice area, too. He folded the paper and then gave her a nod. “I’ll talk to you later about the part.”

“If you remember,” she said with a warm smile.

He gave her a quizzical look and then turned and left her office, leaving the building shortly afterward and then heading out to the street to hail a cab. Once he got in he gave the driver her address. What was she _thinking_? He wasn’t sure whether either of the women’s taste ran that way but setting them up on a blind date was ludicrous. The woman should seriously stop playing matchmaker. One day it was seriously going to backfire.

He was humming with a sort of nervous energy the entire ride, and once the cab pulled up he paid and got out. It was a nice brick building, and Molly was up on the third floor. He saw there was a lift once he got into the building and made his way to it, only for it to open and for Irene to step out. “Oh. Hello, Sherlock,” she said, eyeing him like a piece of choice meat. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He pursed his lips for a moment. “Irene,” he said with a nod when he spoke.

“Molly’s upstairs,” she said as she moved closer to him. “She’s in _quite_ a good mood so don’t spoil it.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Have a good day.” And with that, she sauntered off. He watched her walk away, hips swaying in the maxi dress she wore, and then he took a deep breath and turned back to the lift before making his way into it and pressing the button for Molly’s floor.

When he got there he stepped out and went to her door. He hesitated a moment and then knocked. She opened it and stared at him in surprise for a moment before smiling widely. “Sherlock! Hi! Come on in,” she said, opening the door more widely and stepping out of the way so he could enter her flat.

He came in and looked around. It was a bright, airy, well lit flat. Lots of white walls and natural light, and very nice pieces of art on the walls. He realized it was very opposite of the dark and cave like flat that he and John shared. “I ran into Irene on the way up,” he said, feeling a bit nervous.

“Oh, we were just chatting,” she said with a smile. “Catching up and all.”

He gave her a look. “Catching up?” he asked.

She nodded. “I thought I had recognized her when I saw her while I was waiting to meet Mrs. Hudson for the first time. Her hair is darker now, she’s had a _smidge_ of work done, and she’s changed her name, but Irene and I grew up together in Bozeat. We used to be good friends, actually. She was one of my best mates until we were twelve and her father got a job here in London. I never thought I’d see her again.”

“I see,” he murmured. 

“Yes. So we were just catching up, and we made plans for dinner tomorrow at Orsini.” She gestured to her sofa. “I wasn’t expecting any more company, but I’m glad you’re here. I’d hoped we could chat. I saw you in _Jekyll & Hyde_ and you were amazing. No wonder everyone thinks you’re in line to win all the awards this season.”

He ducked his head slightly at the compliment. “Thank you,” he said. “You were quite good as Phoebe D’Ysquith. I saw you perform and that was why I gave the recommendation to Mrs. Hudson to take you on as a client.”

“Oh, I love that part,” she said with a smile. “I only wish I could have gotten to perform it on Broadway. But perhaps someday they’ll do a full production here on the West End and I’ll stand a chance.”

“Perhaps.” He was quiet a moment as he pondered what to do now. “I came here on a…personal matter, though I suppose it’s moot now, as you and Irene are…well, I suppose…I mean I….”

She chuckled slightly. “I suppose Mrs. Hudson read my interest in Irene as romantic, considering the questions I asked?”

He nodded. “She did.”

“I’m bicurious, I suppose,” she said after some thought. “I’ve never actually _been_ with a woman, but I’ve considered it.” She blushed after a moment. “That’s a bit too personal, I suppose. I barely know you.”

“Well, I asked,” he said.

“Yes, but…” she said. She looked down. “But as for Irene in particular, no, I’m not interested in her that way. We’re friends, but we’re not _friends._ I’m interested in someone else.”

“Ah,” he said. “Then I’ll leave the matter be.”

She bit her lip slightly. “Would you…would you like some coffee? Or some tea? Away from here? Or, I mean, I could make you some here. But if it’s not here it could be a…date.”

He blinked. “A date?” he asked, unsure if he had heard her correctly.

She nodded. “Yes. I would like to go out on a date with you, Sherlock. Very much. But only if you want to.”

He felt a smile come to his face as he relaxed. “I would like that very much, actually.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He nodded, his smile growing wider. “Really.”

“Oh, well then…let me get my coat and then we can go to this little café nearby with these excellent pastries. They even make the best ham and cheese croissants that taste _unbelievably_ good when warmed up,” she said with an equally wide smile on her face as she stood up. He did the same after a moment, following her as she went to the door, and he felt a bounce in his step that hadn’t been there in some time. Perhaps he wasn’t going to be alone in the world for much longer, if he was lucky…


End file.
